A Short Story
By Lucinda de Leeuw
He zipped up his pants. And then takes out a beaten packet of cigarettes from its pocket. He mid-way realised I was still lying on the floor—at his feet, struggling for breath and strength. He just as soon forgot he held my spirit in the air only seconds ago; lighting a cigarette he turned away from me.
Leaving a cloud of smoke in his wake; a body battered and raped lay on the cold ceramic floor. I reach for my phone.
‘Mom, please come home—’
Tears dropped to my ears as soon as I spoke. ‘I need you.’